Weiss Kreuz drabbles collection
by illegal goddess
Summary: Endspiel is up now. I'll be adding new ones from time to time. Different genres and characters. And I still don't own Weiss Kreuz or get any from this. UPD Blue, Dreams and Predators added.
1. endspiel

_**Endspiel is Ten Of Swords - end of cycle, completion, yet ruins**_

**_Timeline: post series_**_**  
**_

ENDSPIEL

Crawford never feels young. Time is his relentless lover. It exhausts him, ages him, owns him. In the war against tomorrow, he loses even when he wins. Time is eternal. Flesh is not. He doesn't fear death, but his gift is unable to see beyond its border. Every plan ends there. Even the successful ones. How can he win the game if he won't see the end of it?

This time, though, he just might. The world crashes and burns around him. The grande finale.

He wishes Schuldig were alive. Without him, the end of tomorrow is somehow less fun.


	2. delirium

**Delirium**

_Weiss Kreuz.  
Slash, romance, fluff, delirium, OOC.  
Crawford & Schuldig.  
Gluhen AU._

"You are alive," Crawford says, eyes alight with... elation?  
He must have bumped his head pretty hard during that last attack. It's hard to appraise the environs when you can barely crack your eyes open, but Schuldig manages.  
Crawford sits propped against a brick wall in a lane too dirty for even rats to occupy, and Schuldig himself is sprawled on the wet asphalt, his head resting in Crawford's lap.  
The weirdest thing of all, Crawford is smiling.  
"Is that blood loss making you fuzzy, Brad?"  
Crawford tries for a headshake, winces. His right arm hangs limply, and his face is deathly pale. But the bloody sunset is rolling into a quiet night, and their enemies lie dead, and their future is clear. Schuldig feels like his head is stuffed with broken glass and rusty razors but he decides the result was worth the process.  
Cold fingers, sticky with blood, slide across his cheek, and he looks up and meets Crawford's oddly tender gaze.  
"Alive..."  
Schuldig attemps a smirk. It hurts, but what the hell. "Of course," he says. "I always knew I'd go down in style. And look at this. Evil plots. Explosions. Dirty walls. So passe."  
"I love you," Crawford says.

"Hey, careful there. If I say I love you too, we'll both kick the bucket. Genre expectations and all that."  
Crawford nods.  
Schuldig doesn't need to say a word.  
And they both know it.


	3. silence

**Silence**

_Weiss Kreuz. __  
__Drabble. About Schwarz. PG-13. Traumatic._

The black leather seat can't soak up his blood, and it slithers down in lazy little rivulets. It's new and bright, and the sight of it burns my eyes. His face is calm and blank, the hard glint gone from his blue eyes. He looks younger. Almost innocent.  
He doesn't say a word, and that scares me most.  
No wound had ever been enough to make him shut up. He'd be whining, cursing, joking, complaining. Insulting my lack of medical skills right as I patched him up.  
Not this time.  
The wound is small--a vivid red spot like a carnation in the lapel of his green coat. I can't stand it. I need to know. I beg for a flash of the future but my gift is a stubborn bitch. If I push her too hard, she'll strike back with blindness. For now, it's temporary, but one day it will change. That much I had seen.  
I put my cheek against his chest and listen. His blood cools on my face.  
I always told him I lived for the day when he learns to be silent.  
Death is a good teacher.


	4. blue

**BLUE**

_Weiss Kreuz. PG._

Aw, you are cute. And what's that? Flowers! For me?  
Aw, thanks. I love flowers. Look, those little ones are blue. I love blue. See my hair? Hell says I can go darker when I grow up.  
Bored now. Gimme back my umbrella. I wanna see if your blood is blue, too.


	5. predators

**PREDATORS**

_Weiss Kreuz.__PG-13_

Crawford loves to stroke his hair. It's thick and coarse--not a silky waterfall of tresses but a lion's mane, red like a desert sunset. Loves the lithe, steely feel of his body, the promise of action like a tightly wound spring. Loves the way he leans against the wall, grinning, arms crossed over his chest--too sure of himself to take a fighting stance.

A young predator, full of life, eager for a hunt.

Crawford never feels young.


	6. dreams

**Dreams**_  
_  
_Characters: __Schuldig   
__Challenge: cruel to be kind_

He always envied the telekinetics. They could use their talent to crush themselves into a bloody pulp, avoiding interrogation, torture, and general unpleasantries.

All he could do was enforce his shields until he thought he would never hear anyone's mind again. Not that he cared. All he wanted was to keep his own thoughts to himself.

"After such a trauma, purging alien thoughts is impossible. Full memory erasion will keep you sane."  
"I don't want to be sane. I want to be myself."

A needle kissed him, slowly. There was no pain. Just a dream, worse than death, because he knew it would end.


End file.
